Competition
by 20Waffles20
Summary: As strange as it may seem, there's a serial killer in Miami. What happens when the B.A.U. gets called in to investigate? I'm rating it M because, well, Debra... Can be set anywhere in Dexter, but between seasons 3-7 of Criminal Minds. If you're interested in a sequel, be sure to follow this story once you finish and I'll post a new chapter to give a heads up.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The story arc with Doakes being the "Bay Harbor Butcher" never happened. He and Quinn don't exist. I don't really remember Doakes that well, and I don't like Quinn. (Just a personal preference.) Also, Deb doesn't know about Dexter's… hobby. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to either Criminal Minds, or Dexter. **

This was the fifth victim in an agonizingly slow-paced spree. Dexter had just finished up his work at the abduction site, and was well on his way to the newly discovered dumpsite. There really is no such thing as a slow-paced spree killing; even the words are in direct conflict with one another. To a man like Dexter Morgan, waiting two days for another clue felt like waiting for two years. He wasn't anxious to put this sick bastard away though. No, he had something else planned entirely. He stopped his car just on the outskirts of the yellow tape and got out. After gathering his equipment, he deftly made for the alleyway where his impatient sister was situated. "Same as the others?" he asked, not really caring who answered.

"Yes," it was Batista, "completely _different _methods of torture, and a '5' burned into the poor girl's chest."

"Poor Girl" was an apt description. There were a multitude of chemical burns marring her flesh, accompanied by several abrasions and the occasional laceration. Dexter assessed the damage, '_a lot of work for two days'._ There were defensive marks; this girl had fought back at some point. Other than her injuries, there was nothing. He looked to Deb and spoke, "there's no blood here. This one seems to be more in Masuka's area of expertise."

Before she could say anything, the other man appeared. "Fret not, Dex, here I come to save your ass!" Vince Masuka struck the pose and all as he sang out the latter part of the sentence. He proceeded to break into a throaty chuckle, clearly pleased with his own joke.

"Dex," Debra decided to implicitly ignore the other technician, "LaGuerta is breathing down our necks here. I want all hands on deck for this one." He bobbed his head in acceptance, and grabbed the camera from his bag.

He was finding this killer to be exceptionally annoying. First and foremost, there hadn't been a shred of evidence left behind as of yet. Usually, it was rather easy for Dexter to manipulate police procedure, here and there, and come away with a lead that he didn't have to share. So far, he had been afforded no such opportunities in this case. Secondly, this guy had appeared seemingly from nowhere. There were no cases that matched, or even came close to, this specific modus operandi. He could only find solace in the thought that Deb, and the officers under her command, had nothing to go on either.

* * *

**Three Days Later:**

It was hours before their usual start time, in-fact it was still dark outside, but none of the assembled agents seemed to mind all that much. They were sat around their conference table, coffee in-hand, preparing for what was likely to be a very long day. A woman entered then, she had long blonde hair and an all-business attitude about her demeanor. "Sorry for the wait guys," she began as she passed the youngest member of the group a file, and instructed the others to turn to their tablets. "I just got off the phone with Lieutenant Debra Morgan of the Miami Metro Police Department. She's pretty pissed that her Captain called us in on this."

"What are we dealing with this time, J.J.?" Derek, arguably the most physically intimidating member of the team, wanted to delve into the case. He would worry about the politics of the local station later.

"Garcia," J.J. said simply, nodding in the direction of the other woman. The outlandishly, bubbly technical analyst started a rather macabre slide show. "Six women, ages ranging from 25 to 29, have been abducted, tortured and murdered. The methods of torture vary for each victim. The locals probably wouldn't even have connected the murders if it hadn't been for this," she emphasized as the monitor displayed the blown-up image of a detailed burn.

"The number '4'?" The eldest member of the group queried, while examining the image on his own screen.

"Each of these women have similar injuries, with different numerals." J.J. didn't want to voice the next thought, but someone had to. "Rossi, it appears that he's 'numbering' his victims."

The ever-stoic leader finally spoke up. "Time span between murders?" He trusted J.J.'s judgment, and if she thought this case deserved the attention of the B.A.U., he'd back her play. He didn't mind forgoing a few bureaucratic steps in how cases were to be moved up in priority.

"Anywhere from a couple of days to a week. The most recent one was discovered 30 minutes ago in Olympia Heights, Florida." J.J. responded quickly, having already anticipated the question from her boss.

"Only 30 minutes ago," Reid's voice was driven higher by his shock. "Why did they contact us so quickly?"

"Apparently the Captain, a Maria LaGuerta, is _very_ concerned with her public image." J.J. was powerless to prevent the teenage-esque eye roll that momentarily wracked her features.

Aaron Hotchner had all the information on the case that he needed. "Wheels up in twenty, we'll continue this discussion on the jet." He was out the door, and headed to the Section Chief's office, before anyone could accept his commands.

J.J. followed his order with, "we're meeting the Lieutenant at the police department when we land and sharing our insight," before leaving to retrieve her things.

* * *

The B.A.U. team exited the elevator on the floor designated to the homicide division of Miami Metro. They briskly headed for the office at the back of the main room. Finding it empty, they were only marginally surprised when they were addressed from behind. "You must be the feds." It was a statement. They knew that this woman had absolutely no say in the call for their assistance, and they were used to working with people that didn't really want to work with them.

"You must be Lieutenant Morgan." J.J. returned, just as brusque, letting the Lieutenant know that looks could be deceiving. She offered her hand to the woman. "Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau. This is our Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner," she began introductions. Indicating first her boss, and then the others, "These are S.S.A.'s David Rossi, Dr. Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss."

Lieutenant Morgan regarded the one called "Dr. Reid" with reservations for a moment. "Please, feel free to call me Deb. I sincerely hope 'Agent' will suffice because that's a fuckload of names." She turned then, and gestured for them to follow. "You can set up in our briefing room, it has pretty much everything you requested. If you need anything else," she pointed to the portly man standing next to one of the whiteboards, "Batista's your man."

"Sergeant Angel Batista," he said, extending his hand to Hotch.

He took the proffered hand. "Let's get started."

* * *

After a few minutes of conversation, they were all on the same page and began to tweak the preliminary profile. "I hate to say it," J.J. started, "but could he be branding them like they're cattle?" Emily unconsciously reached for the scar that had been seared into her own flesh, and winced at the cold comparison.

"Not exactly," all eyes went to Reid, "cattle are traditionally branded with the owner's emblem so that they can't be stolen by other ranchers. Since they're being marked with sequential numbers, and not identical emblems, it's more likely that you were correct earlier in hypothesizing that they were being 'numbered'."

"Yay, me," she mumbled to herself.

"Maybe this sick fuck has some kind of O.C.D., or something, that gives him the urge to kill a certain amount of women." '_Lieutenant Morgan certainly has a way with words,' _Dave thought as he listened to his colleagues debate the profile.

Spencer raised his head and spoke directly to Debra. "That's unlikely. While people diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder _can _also present with psychotic tendencies, it's actually more likely that this offender is being brash just because he wants an audience."

"You're right, Kid." Derek stood, and moved to one of the evidence boards. "Look at the detail of this burn. With this level of care and attention, it's clear that this guy is an organized psychopath."

"That's a possibility," Hotch interjected, effectively bringing the scrutiny of the room to himself. "Reid and Rossi, I want the two of you to head to the morgue. See if we can get anymore insight from the medical examiner, or the bodies. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you two at the latest crime scene, see what you can find there."

"What, you think _my _people will miss something?!" Hotch saw the unadulterated anger in the Lieutenant's eyes as she cut him off, "because we've been going over that place with a fuckin' fine tooth comb!"

Rossi cut-in looking to defuse the situation, "we don't exactly look for _evidence _in the traditional sense. We need to get a feel for how this guy operates."

Hotch took the woman's menacing glare in stride, and resumed, "J.J. and I will speak to the victims' families and see if we can find any connections. We'll all meet back here as soon as possible."

"I'll ride with the two of you to the crime scene," Deb stated, if a little dejectedly. She was determined to maintain some level of control. "Batista, you check out the dumpsite, and then join us there."

* * *

"We don't always get to work with competent locals, you know?" Morgan decided it would be best to try to dissuade the Lieutenant's current, negative feelings toward Agent Hotchner. "We're just being thorough, using our own eyes…"As he trailed off, the car fell into a just bearable silence.

Prentiss gazed through her window on the back right; the luminous neon signs were decidedly more interesting. "El Fuego", a scuzzy looking bar, seemed to be particularly inviting. That is, until her phone vibrated. It was Garcia, no doubt calling to confirm her availability for the upcoming girls night.

* * *

**A/N: I'm already writing another story, so I'll only continue this one if people are interested in it. If not, I'll get back to it after I finish the other one. Really, I'm just not sure if I like it or not, so let me know. I'm not trying to give an ultimatum, I just want to know if I'm wasting my time.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: There seems to be some interest in this, so I'm going to go ahead and update. Let me know what you think!**

Upon arrival on the scene, the two Morgans exited the vehicle and quickly found themselves inundated with questions and flashing lights. The brunette profiler, ever so grateful for Garcia's lively chatter, ended her call and slipped passed the press and into the house.

Crime scene technicians hurriedly, yet carefully, scurried about. They were cataloguing and collecting evidence. Her eyes landed on a man squatting, somewhat precariously, near the edge of the living room. Cautiously, she moved closer to the man.

As she came up behind him, he stood, unaware that her diligent eyes were fixed on him. Unaware that she was now planted, firmly behind him.

"Excuse me." The man started at the close proximity of the woman's voice.

"Ma'am," he replied with a terse nod.

Sardonically, she asked, "are you going to gather that evidence properly, or are you going to let possible prints and D.N.A. degrade while you stare at it?" He hadn't even realized that he'd been so involved in the small square of paper.

He suddenly became aware of the amount of time that had amassed since her question. "I… Uh…" he stumbled for an explanation. '_This is new,' _he thought. "You caught me," he raised his hands in mock surrender, a slight smirk ghosting his lips. "I left my evidence bags in the car. I was just going to slip it into my pocket, and transfer it over once I got outside." His jaw clenched after the delivery of his phony confession. Emily stared at him, completely enraged. "I was kidding," he put forward as he leaned slightly toward her. Sure she had been snarky, but she didn't find his retort amusing in the least.

* * *

Masuka stood off at a distance, giving his friend a sympathetic look. Prentiss didn't even notice the others walk though the front door, accompanied by Sergeant Batista. By this time, she was absolutely fuming. They caught the tail end of the confrontation. "… believe that a forensics 'expert'," she threw exaggerated air quotes around the word, "would be so damn idiotic!"

"Look, Miss?" He paused, signaling for her to supply a name. When she remained silent, he continued, "Whatever it is that you do, I don't tell you how to go about your job. So please, let me do mine in peace."

"Agent," she said forcefully, then somewhat softer, added, "Prentiss."

"Agent," he corrected, on the absolute edge of sarcasm. She scowled at him for several moments, and he stared back at her intently, almost imitating her visage. They stared each other down until movement on the other side of the room garnered his attention, which in-turn drew hers.

As the group moved toward a very angry Emily, and a very stunned looking technician, he took the opportunity. When she turned back to face him, he asked, "Would you like to go out for drinks with me later?"

The abrupt change in conversation caught her off-guard to say the least, and Emily returned an icy, "follow procedure," before walking off toward her partner.

He knew the type; hell, his sister was the type. He needed to placate her suspicions, and fast. Female, action-hero cops could only be distracted by flirtation for so long.

"What the hell was that about?" The Lieutenant seemed rather pissed off about the outburst that had just taken place.

"Your tech made a _joke _about picking up evidence and putting it in his pocket, said he didn't feel like walking to his car to retrieve an evidence bag." In disbelief, all three newcomers turned to the man.

"It's my bad, I deserved every word of it." He gave an awkward wave as he moved in the group's direction and shed his latex gloves, "Dexter Morgan, blood spatter analyst. I had a bit of a lapse in judgment. Sorry, long night last night." He expressed his regret, and accepted the evidence bag Masuka offered him.

"These are the F.B.I. agents LaGuerta called in." Deb looked to the man on her right.

"Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan, and this is my partner," he motioned to her, "Emily Prentiss. Though it looks as if you've already met. Any relation between the two of you?" He asked, looking from the technician to the Lieutenant.

Deb decided to answer, "Apparently, he's my _idiot _brother." This incident effectively put her earlier anger into perspective. Anyone was capable of making mistakes.

"What can you give us, Dex?" Batista said, getting them back on track.

"Well, there are three drops of blood over here to the right of this small pool. They're in the shape of a teardrop, with the angular end aimed toward the door. From this," he pointed to the blood on the floor, "I'd suggest that the victim probably sustained a head wound and _walked _out of here. My guess is that she was coerced since she hasn't shown up at any hospitals." He tried not to stress that she had walked out of her own volition too much. To Dexter, this small act spoke volumes about the killer's mind.

"You said she walked out, you're sure of that?" Prentiss asked after sharing a glance with Derek.

"Positive," Dexter replied, with the inclination of his head and a raise of his brow. "If someone would have carried her, the blood would have been caught up in her hair."

"Unless they threw her over their shoulder," Derek postulated.

"True,' Dexter conceded, "but if that had been the case, the blood in her body would have rushed to her head, resulting in a greater blood loss."

"So this guy is sadistic then." Derek noted the confused looks he was receiving from the Lieutenant and the Sergeant, and expanded, "he doesn't just knock them out and take them like we originally thought. He overpowers them in their own homes, and then makes them walk out with him. Imagine how helpless you would feel walking out of your own place, _with _your attacker."

Dexter narrowed his eyes, and scrupulously studied the other Morgan male. He had heard that Captain LaGuerta had called in an elite F.B.I. team, but he hadn't expected them to be quite this high caliber. He noticed the woman retrieving her phone. "Prentiss," she answered curtly. "Well, we've got something here." She bowed her head, in acceptance, and then she returned her phone to her back pocket. "That was Hotch, he wants us back at the station. We need to start on specifics of the profile, and get Garcia going." After relaying the orders, she and Derek left. The Lieutenant had opted to head back with her subordinate.

Returning to his S.U.V., Dexter quickly scanned the area. Satisfied with his pseudo solitude, he proceeded to recover the piece of evidence that he had been forced to produce. He wouldn't be able to hide it forever as he had originally intended, but since one F.B.I. agent already thought he was inept, he _could _delay his findings for a sufficient amount of time.

He held the napkin up, and analyzed it in the bright sunlight. "555-510-6199 call for a good time!" was drunkenly scrawled around the logo. '_No wonder it was crumpled up on the floor.' _But the logo, that was intriguing. "El Fuego". That's where he would be heading after work tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay so, the next two parts occur simultaneously. I'm going to post them as separate chapters, but I will upload them both. Hopefully, this will avoid any confusion. Feel free to message me with questions. The next chapter will be up after I proofread it.**

Getting back to the station, he first set about finding the establishment. "3625 Palm Avenue" turned out to be his predetermined destination. Now, to take a shot in the proverbial dark and see if his prey was stupid enough to give this woman his actual number. He looked up the digits in a police program and got a hit. James "Jimmy" Newfield, aged 31, father of two, wife filed for divorce a week and a half before the first killing. The only problem was that he didn't have so much as a speeding ticket on his record. '_So why is he in the system at all?' _After digging a little deeper, '_he was reported missing yesterday?'_

On paper, he didn't look like a killer; he looked like your next-door neighbor. There was something in his eyes though, something that Dexter recognized almost fondly. He was sure that this was his man.

He commenced the fingerprint scan on the cocktail napkin. Then he set the blood typing and D.N.A. matching tests in motion for the samples he had collected. '_Now the real work begins.' _He turned to Masuka, "I think I'm going to head out for the night, could you record my results if you need to use any of my equipment?"

"Of course, Dex. Have a good night, man." Masuka responded without looking away from his own toiling.

A devious twinkle emerged in his dark, green eyes as he made to exit the lab.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Again, this is happening in tandem with Dexter running the evidence. Also, thank Celina for motivating me to do this tonight! **

The agents were situated in the Miami Metro briefing room with Sergeant Batista, and an agitated Lieutenant Morgan. The only source of sound was that of the voice emanating from the phone that seemed to be a permanent fixture in the center of the table. "So what do we know about this creep, my lovelies?"

"We know that he's sadistic, based on the way he forces victims to leave with him, but there's no sign of forced entry at any of the abduction sites. This tells us that they let him in." Derek led off the discussion.

"That means that there is absolutely nothing threatening about this man." Dave carried on at Derek's nod of confirmation, "these women are all citizens of one of the largest cities in the United States. I think it goes without saying that they probably know how to handle themselves, and wouldn't let an ominous man into their homes."

"Well, if we're just guessing," Deb launched into her own conjecture, failing miserably to conceal her incredulous tone. "There wasn't any evidence to suggest that the women were killed where they were found, so there has to be something we're missing in-between."

"Given the close proximity of ones neighbors in this area, we can deduce two things." Reid jumped into the conversation at full speed. "He fits in. We haven't had any reports of strange behavior, or domestic violence. If this guy weren't in control of his ulterior persona, then it would have presented in his life publicly."

Garcia sat, poised at her computer, ready to begin her intrepid search for yet another sicko. "So, you're telling me that we are literally looking for 'Average Joe' here? I'm sorry, my Baby Boy Genius, but that isn't really much help. What's the second thing?"

"I haven't disclosed the first thing yet." He cocked his head to the side, and quirked an eyebrow in slight confusion, then pressed on. "What this reveals is that he is most likely a family man."

"What?" Deb felt the urge to question the dubious, new information. "How could you possibly ascertain _that_?"

Though the Lieutenant directed her query to Spencer, J.J. was the one to answer. "This guy would go to almost any lengths to appear normal outwardly. He likely sought out the 'Typical American Dream', which usually includes a Nuclear Family archetype."

"Narrowing it down to 'fathers of two' in, and around, Miami." The tech analyst announced, while furiously inputting data restrictions.

Batista had a concern covertly playing across his features. "Something bothering you, Sergeant?" He seemed dismayed at how easily Agent Rossi had read his thoughts.

"It's just that you all are saying our guy's a family man," Angel walked toward the whiteboard that contained the intelligence that had been compiled on the victims. "What's he doing going to the homes of these young women?"

"That's probably the stressor," Hotch informed. He was standing, arms crossed, with his back to the bullpen.

Derek picked up the explanation, "he's most likely recently separated or divorced."

"The break from his fantasy, 'American Dream' lifestyle, is what triggered him." Reid finished off the elucidation, and proceeded, "Garcia, circumscribe the list to recent divorcees and people that have filed for divorce in the last six months."

"Your wish is my command, Spence, but I'm afraid it won't make much of a dent in our list of possibles," she came back empathetically.

"Ah," he said, raising his index finger as indication that he had more to divulge, even though Penelope couldn't see him. "You've forgotten about the second particular. Given the close proximity, the assumption that he has a family and the fact that he transports his victims to a secondary location before killing them and dumping their remains in a tertiary location, we can conclude that our UnSub owns additional property."

"Because he needs privacy, of course." Garcia immediately accepted Reid's adamant thesis, and resumed typing.

"Yeah, but this is Miami." Lieutenant Morgan studied the others for a moment, and then supplied the answer to their quizzical expressions. She leaned in next to the phone, "you should be looking at people who own boats with adequate cabin space as well." Then off-handedly added, "Half of the people that live here own boats," with a shrug as she straightened up.

"Looking at boater registrations…" Garcia mumbled distractedly.

"Also," Emily piped up, "he's probably between the ages of 25 and 35 given the age demographic of his targets. He'd go for someone around his own age, and the patience that it took to desecrate these women's bodies speaks to a level of maturity." Her outpouring received several nods of agreement.

"Alright, with that, we are down to a grand-spanking total of," Penelope drew the last word out as she scanned the results, "483 possible suspects."

"That's too many for door-to-door interviews." Deb's eyes widened as she spoke, as if the large number intimidated her. Though it was exponentially smaller than their original suspect pool, it was still too much.

Emily looked to Dave, "did you guys get anything from the M.E.?"

"No," Dave replied, seemingly ashamed, "it was a wash."

"Nothing we didn't already know from the reports,' Reid provided.

After a beat of silence, Rossi glanced between Hotch and J.J., "did we get any overlapping with the victims?"

J.J. replied, "Sarah Evans and Jessica Peters, victims one and five, both went to a bar the night they disappeared. That's about it. None of them knew each other, or shared any acquaintances."

"The same bar?" Reid wanted to know, intrigued.

"No." Hotch quickly answered, shaking his head.

Rossi maintained the line of questioning, "Do these establishments have any employees in common?"

Garcia was the one to return, "no, sir. Gumdrop there already gave me the names of the bars, and my cross reference of staff came up empty."

At that, Hotch raised his eyebrows. "I'm going to assume that, 'gumdrop', refers to J.J."

Before the analyst could whip out a witty response, Prentiss supplied another question. "Do they have any _thing _in common, like activities?" and the group was back to business.

Morgan's eyebrows dipped as he looked at his partner, "what are you thinking?"

"Well, on the way to the crime scene earlier, I noticed an advertisement for an open-mic night at some bar." Garcia didn't wait for anyone to ask, and started digging before Emily had even finished verbalizing her thoughts.

Batista caught on to her train of thought second. "You're thinking this guy could be a musician?"

"Or a patron that enjoys music; or rather, enjoys hearing music, as a backdrop, while he's stalking his next prey." She added the second part sarcastically, bouncing her head from side to side.

Penelope exclaimed then, "and our dear Emily has just hit the jackpot! Seriously chica, go buy a lottery ticket."

"Garcia," the leader of the team gave a warning that was all too familiar to the members of the B.A.U.

"Sorry sir," she began, sincerely apologetic. "It's just that the websites for both of the bars list the performers they have on any given night, and going back two years, they only have five in common. Two of those are women, and one is in his late sixties."

"The names of the other two?" The Lieutenant was already dialing the Assistant District Attorney to get warrants in place.

"The first one is Brandon Myles, and the second is James Newfield. Both of them fit the profile, and are on our list. Their respective addresses should be hitting your cells now."

"Both of these men own boats?" Hotch asked after directing a uniformed officer to give them everything they had on the two suspects.

Penelope perused their tax returns. "No, only Brandon Myles. Also, I checked credit card statements. It appears all of the other victims attended bars, or restaurants with live entertainment, the night that they went missing. And sir," her lips formed into a sultry smile, "you're _Mr. _Gumdrop." The line went dead. "Thanks for all the hard work, Garcia. You really made this easy for us, Baby Girl." She spun around in her chair, "_so_ unappreciated."

* * *

As the agents rushed to the elevator, Angel and Debra were right behind them. "Where are you all off to? Is there a break in the case?"

"Yeah, Dex," Batista turned around as he spoke, and kept backing toward the door. "We've got two names, and no time. We'll let you know how it turns out."

Dexter was astonished. There was no evidence, at any of the crime scenes, that pointed to a suspect. The napkin was an incredibly thin lead, and they didn't even have _that. _He decided to take a detour, and check up on the competition. Because that's what these people were: competition.

He noticed the chaos that was the table in the center of the room and moved toward it. Two files were lying, open on the tabletop. He leaned forward, mouth agape. '_That's not good.'_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This is a pretty short one, but I believe the shortness is necessary for the story. It was also brought to my attention that I didn't specify the characters in play with regards to Dexter's home life. It's just Harrison, my apologies if I led anyone on. **

Hotch, Rossi, J.J. and Lieutenant Morgan pulled up in front of an apartment building. They secured their ballistic vests and, once inside the building, headed for the stairs. The Lieutenant was a step ahead of Hotch and, subsequently, banged on the door that read "4B". "Brandon Myles, this is the F.B.I.!" If he was going to be beaten to the door, he was going to do the talking. "Open up!" All four of them had their weapons un-holstered, and were listening intently. They heard the slide of the deadbolt, and the door began to slowly open.

* * *

Batista had decided to ride with his group of feds. He was now sat in the back of a government issued S.U.V., eyeing the skinny kid next to him. "You really pass the Bureau's P.T. course?"

Spencer creased his brow in consideration and then replied, "Did _you _really make it through the physical aspect of the police academy?" He, intentionally, looked over to the other man's midsection.

Angel shot daggers at the kid for a moment, and then his face broke into a genuine smile. "About 25 years ago, yeah." He couldn't stifle the hearty laughter that followed, and the other three joined in as well.

They settled just in time for Spencer to notice his phone going off, "Reid," he answered. After a few moments of listening, he ended the call and spoke to the occupants of the vehicle. "That was J.J. Apparently, Brandon Myles died at the beginning of last month in an automobile crash. We have an arrest warrant."

Morgan interrupted the silence shortly after digesting the new information, "you can't just say car?" He earned a light chuckle from his partner and the other man. Then, he took on a more serious tone. "So, it looks like we've got the bad guy."

* * *

When the S.U.V. came to a stop, all four of them exited simultaneously. They strapped on their vests, and drew their weapons. Morgan was giving the orders, "Prentiss and Batista, you take the back. Reid and I have got the front." Batista went behind the house on the right, and Prentiss on the left. Once they were in position, Prentiss signaled Derek and he knocked on the door. He was on the left, with his back against the house; Reid was on the right. After no response, he knocked harder, and added, "James Newfield! F.B.I., we've got a warrant for your arrest!"

As he finished, a car pulled into the driveway. It contained a woman, presumably Mrs. Newfield, and two small children. "Reid," he nodded toward the car, "go check it out."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I blame the three updates the other day on lack of sleep, not enough motivation to work on my other story and Celina... I'm not crazy enough to keep that pace up though. Anyway, Garcia's got some 'splaining to do this chapter.**

"I am soo sorry, sir. I don't know how I missed this." Garcia felt terrible for her recent mistakes. "The missing persons report _was_ attached to Newfield's dossier, I just overlooked it. However, Mr. Myles' death hasn't made its way through the system yet." She sat, sulking, for a moment before putting her glasses on and getting back to work. "James 'Jimmy' Newfield, father of two was last seen 48 hours ago while accessing his storage container. Wife reported him missing after he failed to pick one of the kids up from tee ball practice. Also, she's in the process of becoming his ex-wife."

"Just because Jimmy Newfield is missing, that doesn't mean he's not our UnSub." Derek said this partly out of a need to let Garcia know that she hadn't failed them as greatly as she perceived, and partly because someone had to state the obvious.

"Good work, Garcia." Hotch made to end the call on that note, but her voice halted him.

"Sir," she looked around to make sure she was by herself, "is the team alone at the moment? I have a bit of a personal note to add."

He squinted at the phone for a quick second, and then looked to Derek. The other man hastily shut the doors to the briefing room and returned. "Go ahead, Garcia." The Lieutenant and her Sergeant were, currently having to appease a very pissed-off Captain. A Captain that had jumped the gun, and made assurances of the capture of their murderer.

"Guys, " everyone could sense her trepidation, "he's not the first person to go missing down there."

"What do you mean, Garcia?" Rossi's interest was officially piqued.

"I mean Miami Metro has one of _the _worst case closure ratings I have _ever_ seen. It seems that they get suspects in their crosshairs, and then poof! They're wiped off the face of the planet. And it's not just homicide. It's sex crimes, and human trafficking as well. Even with my advanced sleuthing abilities, I haven't found so much as a crumb of evidence pointing to any of the missing bad guys' whereabouts." She really did her research in the time it had taken the team to return to the station after two faulty leads.

The six B.A.U. members shared a look of confusion. The officers they had encountered so far, seemed more than capable. "Maybe shoddy forensics work is the cause of the low closure ratings." Emily couldn't help but vent some of the frustration from her earlier encounter. Her outburst was met with four confused looks, and one of understanding.

"No, it's not forensics. I'm saying that these guys and gals, in some cases, aren't getting a trial."

"Let me get this straight," Rossi began, "you're suggesting that someone is 'taking out' suspected criminals?" His skepticism was plainly evident.

"That's _exactly_ what I'm suggesting."

"It's not too far fetched." Spencer came in as the voice of reason. "How many times have we seen law enforcement officers get fed up and take matters into their own hands?"

"Oh, so now _you're _suggesting that it's one of the cops at this station?" Rossi pointed an accusatory finger at Reid.

He gave a slight shrug, as if he could literally slip out from underneath Dave's finger, and clarified, "I'm just saying that it's plausible."

"Alright," Hotch spoke in a raised voice, "it's getting late, and I think we all need time to re-evaluate. Garcia, go home and get some rest. The rest of you, we're heading to the hotel for the night." He raised a hand to effectively silence the barrage of complaints that assaulted him after his decision, and simply said, "We'll start fresh in the morning."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I'm up early again, with nothing to do. Bad for me, great for you!**

Dexter sat in the back corner booth, situated stage right, and was watching the door attentively. When the music started, he realized that Jimmy had beaten him to the bar. There were few customers, so switching sides would have raised suspicion. That was not something Dexter Morgan was interested in, so he simply turned a bit to the side in his seat. He didn't want to seem too enthralled anyway.

There was Jimmy. He wasn't missing after all, just didn't want to be found. '_Anyone who plays the trumpet is capable of murder.' _He needed to make sure though. He had a code didn't he?

The set ended. Any cop would have been ready to call it quits after sitting through two hours of that, but Dexter was teaming with adrenalin. Sometimes, he found a great joy in shadowing his victims. He was learning everything there was to know about them, in some cases, and they didn't even know he existed. He had become an expert at being nondescript.

After the band stowed their equipment, they headed to the bar. He waited until they were settled, and a few drinks in. Then he moved to the bar. While Jimmy was caught up in an animated discussion with the bartender on his left, Dexter lifted one of his empty shot glasses from the man's right. Tonight, he would follow Jimmy back to wherever he was staying. He would head to the lab in the early hours of the morning. He'd leave his car in place, and take a cab instead. No reason to give up a perfectly good parking space, or to repeatedly come and go. That would only serve to draw unwanted, and watchful eyes. He'd complete his reports and then return to stalk Jimmy throughout the day.

That was his plan at least, until he was walking out of the station and received a call from his sister. "I'll be right there, Deb," and he would be, after he went home and changed.

* * *

"So much for a good nights rest," Emily muttered, walking past her blonde friend. J.J. and Hotch were in the first S.U.V., Derek and Emily in the second. They were headed to the home of the newly discovered victim. Dave and Reid were in the third S.U.V., and had orders to visit the dumpsite.

"Awe, come on, it's only four thirty in the morning." After receiving a very hate-filled look, Derek pressed on. "We got three and a half hours of sleep, and besides, you don't need any beauty sleep." He punctuated the innocent gibe with his brightest smile.

"Compliments will get you everywhere, Derek Morgan." She shot back, a smile of her own in place. Prentiss made a mental note to only be slightly grumpy from there on out.

* * *

This crime scene was much the same as the last. It was obvious that there had been a small scuffle, but the apartment hadn't been broken into. "Wait a second," J.J. spoke up as the others began to move throughout the new location.

"What is it?" Emily was trying to follow her line of sight.

"There, on that stand." Her mind was completely preoccupied with putting the puzzle pieces into place. Her short sentences were near indiscernible, but made complete sense to her. "These pictures, there's one missing." There was a cheaply made, collapsible stand next to the couch. The top three rows contained photographs of the victim with friends. While the first and third rows contained three frames each, one on each side angled inwardly and one in the middle, the second row only held two angled photos. "We need to figure out what was here," J.J. declared as she pointed to the area in question.

"Maybe she just had it set up that way, Jen." It was clear that Derek thought J.J. was reading into the arrangement more than necessary. There was no sign that there had ever been a third picture on that shelf.

Dexter was dazzled by the blonde woman's impeccable eye for detail. There _had_ been a third photo, until about ten seconds before the four members of the B.A.U. walked in. Dexter had snagged it after seeing the content of the still. It was a group shot of Karen Walters, victim number seven, along with Jimmy and an assortment of others. They were posing on the deck of a boat that was docked.

Now, he was busy pulling a fingerprint off the back of the dead woman's phone. It had been thrown, violently, across the room. The indentation in the wall was evidence of that. Most likely, she had tried to call for help, but Jimmy had other plans. He then retrieved the earlier print, recovered from Jimmy's glass, and held them side-by-side for comparison. It wasn't a computer program, but it didn't have to be. He could tell that the two were a perfect match. This was all the evidence he needed. Now, he just had to get back to his car, and by extension, Jimmy. This group of agents really was quite perceptive, each in their own right. He was running out of time.

The agents, not being able to discern any new details about their UnSub, were already heading back to the station. Dexter collected his things and followed them out. Catching up to Morgan and Prentiss, he asked, "Can I ride back with you?" He held up an evidence bag, "I didn't drive here, and I'd like to start processing this as soon as possible." '_And then I'd like to catch up to Jimmy before you, and your team, pull ahead of me.' _

"Yeah, sure," Derek supplied a clipped response as the three departed from the building. Emily surmised that he wasn't happy about the time lost due to the bumbling technician.

* * *

As Dexter sat in the back seat of the S.U.V., he contemplated his current predicament. Harry had taught him to live by the code, but at the end of the day, he was only serving one master: his dark passenger. He actually liked most law enforcement officers, and these in particular he had grown fond of in a fairly short amount of time. Soon after they arrived, he had learned that the B.A.U. was no joke. After further research, he knew that it would be no easy task to get to Jimmy before them, take him out and manage to stay off of their radar all the while. He had great respect for their abilities. A small part of him couldn't help but think, '_this would be the perfect opportunity to eliminate two members of the competition here and now,' _but he digressed. As it was, an extremely irrational thought. Even if he could overpower the two, armed federal agents, granted it was possible with the confined space and his knowledge of advanced Jiu-jitsu, what would he say to the others? '_Yeah, we wrecked and then this guy just came out of nowhere, he snapped each of their necks and took off.' _No, that sounded like a _bit _of a stretch. He would figure it out though because at the end of the day, Jimmy belonged to him and he wasn't about to lose out to the F.B.I.

"Dexter, right?" The brunette's words shook him from his thoughts.

"Uh… yeah," he replied, raising his eyebrows in surprise as he gawked at the back of her head. "Yes," he finalized, nervous at the silence that had met his previous response.

"Did your sister get you the job?" Derek took a quick side-glance at his partner after the rather rude question, trying to decide what she was up to.

Dexter prefaced his answer by shaking his head. "No, actually I worked here before she did. Just a few years ago, she was still a uniform."

"So you must actually be good at your job then," Emily stated crudely as Derek shifted into park in front of the police station.

Dexter paused, as if in contemplation, and then offered a blunt, "quite," before exiting the vehicle.

"What was that about?" Derek asked Emily as soon as the door shut.

"I don't know yet," she replied lamely, pulling on the door handle. Looking back over her shoulder, she added, "but I'll let you know when I figure it out."

**A/N: I'd just like to say… Reviews will get you everywhere, Readers. :) It had to be said, mainly because I love corny lines! **

**That bit, where I questioned Dexter's "code", I just wanted to say that I had that part written a couple of weeks before that episode aired where he questioned it himself… Not important information at all, I was just quite proud of myself for getting there before the show did. I mean really, it's about time.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Here's the deal, I got on a crazy little thought train and have pretty much finished this story. As a result, I'll be updating a lot. Enjoy!**

When Emily and Derek made it to the briefing room, they could tell before they entered that Reid and Rossi had returned with bad news. "Did he escalate in his level of depravity?" Unfortunately, in their line of work, all of these agents were accustomed to less than satisfactory news.

Before anyone could respond to him, Emily saw the photos on the board and walked up to it. "'8'?" Derek moved up behind her to examine the image as well. "But this is the seventh victim."

"Maybe not," was all Deb said as she came into the room. "Your tech is going through all of Florida's missing persons reports trying to find women that match this sick fuck's type." She sat an impressive stack of folders in the center of the table. "These are the first batch of women that possibly fit the victimology, 'A' through 'F'."

Derek wasn't sure in which way this investigation was going to go. "So we're working under the assumption that we missed a victim, or that the UnSub is keeping a woman alive for some reason?"

"We're looking into both of these avenues." Hotch answered his agent, and then looked up from his file. "J.J., Reid, Debra, Batista and I will be going through these missing persons reports, trying to suss out which of these women is potentially our missing victim. You, Prentiss and Rossi are going to review our physical evidence, and try to figure out where we went wrong with the profile. If he is keeping a woman, then we've missed something."

"Right," Emily acknowledged their orders. "Once we figure out who, and where this girl is, we'll understand more about our UnSub."

After receiving a location from the Lieutenant, the three agents headed across the main room to Dexter's office. "Mr. Morgan," Rossi alerted the man to their presence. He inadvertently gained the attention of both men. "We'd like to go over the physical evidence once more, if you have time to show us to it?"

Masuka was flat-out staring at the only female in the room, leering in a way that made Rossi want to kick his teeth in. God only knows what Derek, or Emily herself, wanted to do to the man. He spoke, "I'd be happy to show you to the _physical _evidence." They only time he looked away from Prentiss' eyes was the long moment he took to blatantly ogle her body.

Even Dexter could feel the tension created by the lewd comment, and decided to rescue the agents. "Sure. Follow me." They had, unwittingly, foiled his first attempt at escape.

As they left the room, Emily lingered. "I'm also free for more _personal _tours of… anywhere, or anything," Masuka spat out the corny ploy with the suggestive arch of an eyebrow.

She actually found herself being impressed by the man's complete lack of inhibition, but she wanted to leave no room for misconception. She lowered her head slightly, tightened her jaw and delivered a vicious scowl. Just to make sure this guy knew she wasn't interested though, she managed to inconspicuously flip him the bird as she backed out of the conjoined office closing the door.

Dexter led the three of them to the forensics lab, and he picked out the boxes that contained the items they were searching for. He sat them down on a table, and spoke to the older man, "just sign here, and I'll get out of your hair." He handed over the clipboard containing the evidence log.

"We were actually hoping you'd be able to walk us through your findings." She was met with a surprised glance from both of her teammates, but she didn't really care. Something about this Dexter Morgan was really getting under her skin. She wanted some more time to interact with him; she _needed _more time to profile him.

Dexter didn't notice the lie; he was far too engrossed in his need to get to Jimmy. Also, fabricating a believable fib for three federal agents trained to detect minute human behavior, took a little effort. He looked at his watch, "I really have to be going. My babysitter is off-duty in about forty-five minutes."

"We can handle it from here," Dave assured him, with a pat on the back. As the door closed, he turned on his heel, met Emily's eyes and exaggeratedly elevated his brow.

"What?" She shrugged her shoulders. The senior agent remained quiet. "The guy gives me the creeps, okay! I can't get a read on him."

Dave relented from his speechless interrogation, but only to begin another with Morgan. "Hey man, don't look at me." Derek placed a hand on his chest, "she's been nothing but hostile to that poor guy since we met him."

"Yeah well, he pissed me off," she almost left her explanation there, but felt the urge to go on, "then the bastard had the nerve to ask me out."

The corners of Dave's mouth turned upward in amusement as he said, "God forbid." Morgan chuckled as he and Dave began to sift through one of the boxes.

* * *

**A Couple of Hours Later:**

"What do we have here?" Morgan pondered aloud as he recovered a plastic bag that held a small piece of paper.

Prentiss snatched the object from his hand. "This," she drawled out as she opened the bag, "is what Dexter told me he was putting in his pocket the other day."

She called out the identification number. And Rossi flipped to the page in the report that pertained to the napkin. "No prints, no D.N.A." was all he said.

"Huh." She surveyed the front closely.

"You got something?" Derek asked her.

"Maybe." She pulled her phone out, and dialed. "Garcia, I need you to run a phone number for me, 555-510-6199." The room was quiet as she waited for a response. "You're positive?" She ended the call, and held the napkin up to her coworkers. "'Call for a good time'," she read aloud, "that's Newfield's cell number."

Morgan's brow furrowed involuntarily, "why would he give her that? We profiled this guy as an individual that was intelligent enough to blend in, how could he be stupid enough to leave his number at the scene?"

Dave sat the reports down, and leaned forward on the table. "We're looking at something wrong here. We said that he shows a level of maturity with the amount of time and patience put into the burn marks, but the indecisiveness evident in the varying methods of torture would suggest someone with less maturity."

"Of course," Emily declared. "Even the message on the napkin is immature. Newfield has a younger partner, and he's most likely the one that wrote this." The agents hastily returned everything to its proper place, and left the crime lab.

* * *

J.J. closed a file, and dropped it on the top of a pile to her right. "That's the last of them, none of these women explicitly fit our UnSub's type." None of the people in the room enjoyed the prospect of widening their search parameters blindly.

Wordlessly, Hotch called Garcia from the phone on the table. "Sir, I'm already pulling files from the states surrounding Florida. I can have them to you in a jiff, just say when."

It was the most logical step in what was sure to be an extremely long process, but before he could consent to the idea, the doors to the briefing room swung open without warning. "He's working with an accomplice. That's what we missed." All five of the previous inhabitants gaped at Rossi.

Morgan walked over to the table, "Baby Girl, we're going to need a trace on that cell phone."

* * *

Dexter only had to wait a short period before being rewarded with Jimmy's presence. He had only been away from the man for three hours that morning. During that time, he had gone to wherever he was holding Karen, killed her and disposed of her body. He was leaving now, trumpet in-hand. _'He must be on his way to a bar.'_

He was right. Fifteen minutes later, Dexter was parked outside of "El Fuego". He would have thought that the man would have picked a different location by now. After two excruciating hours of nothingness, Jimmy came out through the front door. He wasn't alone though, he seemed to be having a very hushed conversation with a guitarist. _'Wait, that guitarist looks familiar.' _Dexter fished the framed picture out of his bag, and held it up to the streetlights. The other man was in the photograph as well. As he looked up, the two men were getting into Jimmy's car. He discreetly followed them to a marina, where he was un-shocked to find the boat that was prominently featured in the photo.

This was the missing link. Jimmy had a partner.

Apparently, he was just dropping his collaborator off because he was already returning to his vehicle. He was the primary target. Dexter tailed him all the way back to the seedy motel that he had been staying at. As Jimmy keyed the door, and walked through, Dexter decided he was ready. He slipped on his black latex gloves, and reached for the door handle. Just as his left foot hit the pavement, sirens burst to life all around the hotel. He smoothly slid back into his seat and closed the door. The cops had beaten him to Jimmy.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This chapter seems a bit choppy to me. That being said... I'm trying to write three different story lines at once, and I'm trying something new. Feedback/Opinions?**

The B.A.U., the Lieutenant and her Sergeant were staring through the glass. Each of them running independent scenarios in their heads, trying to determine the best method for Newfield's interview and eventual downfall. They had caught him, but they knew that he had a co-conspirator. Without any signs of the second man, apprehending him would be next to impossible.

They were looking at two different approaches. So, the best move would be to split-up, and take them both head-on. One team would go at Newfield in interrogation; the other would work to identify the actual seventh victim. Hotch had made up his mind, "Morgan, you're with me. We're going to try to get Newfield to give up his partner. The rest of you, I want working in concert with Garcia to get a name for our missing victim." The agents were set into action.

Deb looked over to Batista, "I want this one." She didn't have to say more because he understood just how personally his Lieutenant tended to take cases. He dipped his head in consent, and followed the others to the briefing room.

* * *

Dexter was beyond livid. It had been a long time since he'd been denied a target. He sped back to the marina, and found what he was desperately hoping he would. The boat was still in place. He, once again, donned the latex gloves. He grabbed a fully loaded hypodermic needle, and got out of his S.U.V. He crept onto the small boat, and slowly opened the door that led to the cabin.

There was a battery-powered lantern in the far corner. The light radiating from the small lamp was just enough to be able to navigate the foreign space. The wall to the left was completely barren, with the exception of the two sets of shackles that were bolted in place. The right side housed a small cot, and some kind of workbench. One pair of the shackles was securing an unconscious young woman; the guitarist occupied the cot. '_I really have to figure out what his name is.' _He stepped up to the cot and plunged the needle into the man's neck, simultaneously compressing the syringe.

* * *

"We know you have a partner, James. You're not intelligent enough to pull this off on your own." Morgan launched into a brutal assault on the man's ego, hoping that he would slip. The only reaction he managed to elicit was a miniscule grin.

"Give us your friend's name, and maybe we can work something out for you." Deb was somehow pulling off the role of "good cop".

Agent Hotchner remained silent, fixing Newfield with the most terrifying glare he could muster. None of their ploys were proving fruitful.

* * *

"Garcia," Rossi spoke promptly, as soon as the line connected. "The search you were doing earlier, for the missing victim, I need you to widen the range in age to include women in their early twenties."

"Because we think the partner is inexperienced and younger, and his potential victim pool would include younger women?" Batista asked.

"Precisely," Reid replied. "He would feel more comfortable in attacking younger women. This could also account for the difference in M.O., in that we can't locate this victim. She could still be alive." He paused, and then said, "Garcia, You should also apply the same search criterion to reported Jane Does in the area."

"We established that Karen Walters went missing before we were even called in." A thought was dawning on Emily. "That means that she was being held concurrently with victim number six, Kimberly Watts. These men had an evolution in their methodology, in which they decided that one woman at a time wasn't enough." It didn't really help with the profile, but it made everyone present take a moment to think about just how deranged these men had become in one another's presence.

"I've got twelve reports that _could _be our girl." Penelope compiled the names, "I've sent the list to J.J. Let me know if my services are needed further. Garcia, out." J.J. left then, and returned minutes later, with hard copies of the files.

* * *

First thing's first, he freed the woman from the restraints and put the man there in her stead. He picked her up, and carried her to his car. He drove until he came across a church. '_It works out well for abandoned infants,' _was the rationale that went through his mind. He placed her gently on the steps and jumped back into his car.

* * *

Two hours in a confined space, with a man they _knew _was guilty, was more than sufficient. Even if the man hadn't asked for a lawyer. They left him under the guard of a uniformed officer, and moved to the briefing room. They were hoping that they were the only ones that had struck out.

* * *

Sleep deprivation was taking its toll. The last time Dexter had been this stressed for time, there were… consequences. He pushed the memory to the back of his mind, and focused on the task at hand. Getting out of his car, he went to the back and opened the hatch. He extracted the large duffel bag filled with supplies, and a small satchel that contained his tools. He closed the hatch, quickly scanned the area and vigorously moved toward the docked boat.

It had only been an hour since he'd dosed the guitarist; he had plenty of time to set up. He started with the floor, unrolling immense sheets of plastic to thoroughly cover the surface. He then placed a sizable blanket of the plastic material over the cot that remained on the right side of the cabin. Fastidiously, he went about removing the torture equipment from the workbench, and placing it on the encased cot. After pulling the rusty, metal table into the center of the room, he covered it as well. It was time to prepare his subject. He hauled the man up and onto the table, and proceeded to strip him of his clothes. He chose a moderately less durable plastic, and began fastening the man to the table.

At this point, Dexter decided to take a moment to learn the identity of the man he was about to kill. He didn't take the normal route to this one, but he was absolutely certain that this guy fit the code perfectly. "Adam Fischer", as his driver's license read, was a 25-year-old organ donor. '_Not today, Adam.' _Dexter analyzed the young man for another instant, before getting back to his previous task.

* * *

"Tell me you guys have got something," Derek sounded completely exhausted, "because I _do not _want to have to try to get information from him again."

"We've narrowed it down to two girls." Rossi patted the files on the table. "I was thinking we show them to Newfield, and test his reactions."

The Lieutenant's head lolled back as she sat in one of the chairs at the table. "We can't talk to him," she said. "He lawyered up."

"Oh, Lieutenant," Dave gathered the reports, and started walking in the direction of the doors, " I didn't say _anything _about _talking _to him." This aroused her suspicion. She got up to follow the man, as did everyone else.

* * *

He entered the small room, and sauntered over to the mirror that took up the wall opposite Newfield. He made a show of vainly attending to his immaculate facial hair. When in reality, he was giving his colleagues sufficient time to get into place on the other side of the glass.

"You can't question me without my lawyer present." The snide comment only served to put a cocky smirk on the agent's face. He turned around and moved nearer to the table. He stole a swift examination of the man before opening a folder, and laying it on the table in front of Newfield's cuffed hands. Nothing. No reaction to the photo in the dossier. He closed that one, and placed it under his arm. "What the hell is this for?" He opened the second one, studied it for himself, and then laid it out as well. Nothing.

* * *

Dexter had a makeshift tent of plastic, and was reasonably satisfied with his handy work. Judging from the guttural moans that were flooding the tiny space, Mr. Fischer was waking up. He stood over the table and waited. The man was terrified and once Dexter removed the gag, he verbalized that terror. Since it was rather impromptu, he didn't have any visual aids. Dexter would have to settle for giving the man a brief explanation as to why he had ended up on his table. The only problem, Mr. Fischer was far too talkative. Dexter was getting frustrated, and his tolerance had already taken a substantial blow today. He couldn't wait any longer. He lunged at the man, and without hesitance drove the butchers knife into Mr. Fischer's chest.

He was momentarily disappointed with the rushed outcome. He had planned on dragging it out a bit, giving Fischer a taste of his own torture. A heavy sigh of acquiescence escaped him, and then he set about his disposal process.

* * *

Rossi opened the door to the hallway and was met with his group of colleagues, exiting the observation room.

"So what do we do now?" Derek asked, "Newfield didn't recognize either one of those women."

"Now," Rossi paused for dramatic effect, "we hope that Penelope was able to get something for us." All eight of them began the short trip back to the briefing room.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Is it just me, or do Aaron Hotchner and Dexter Morgan have a lot in common? I guess that's my disturbing thought of the day. **

"I've decided that when you guys get back, you're going to treat me to a little bit of worship." The analyst answered her phone with the dreamy foreshadowing in way of greeting, and continued. "I'm thinking dinner, and I mean somewhere swanky. Maybe even a little back massa…"

"Garcia," she could instantaneously hear the unpleasantness that was her boss' mood at that time, "do you have anything for us on the Jane Does?"

She decided it would be best to appease him, and take up the issue of his harsh tone at a later date. Or, better yet, never. "Yes, sir. There have been eight Jane Does, disclosed by hospitals, in the past three weeks. Six of them have either been identified by family members, or have regained consciousness and identified themselves."

Derek picked up a pen, ready to jot down pertinent details. "Can you get us a solid location on the other two?"

"Derek Morgan," he unconsciously straightened in his seat, "what did I tell you about interrupting ladies?" The room was filled with subtle giggles, and even Hotch cracked the smallest of smiles. "One of these women turned up on the steps of a church about two hours ago. The Father had emergency services there as soon as he found her. When she came to in the hospital, she told the policemen that she had been held against her will. But here's the kicker: according to the officer I talked to, she says that her captor was a _friend _of hers."

They were caught off-guard by her sudden silence. "Do we have a name?" Emily had literally been brought to the edge of her seat by the lead-up, and was more than a little eager to collar the second UnSub.

"Oh, we've got a name." Penelope was now speaking rather triumphantly into her headset. "Along with his current place of residence. I also, based on the lovely Lieutenant's previous suggestion, checked to see if he owns a boat." She was practically giddy with the sheer amount of dirt she had been able to dig up on this young man. "He just so happens to be the proud owner of a quite meager seafaring vessel, and it's docked at a pretty shady sounding slip. No security cameras, no gate, anyone could walk in."

"Excellent work, Garcia." Hotch stretched over the table. He had his hand hovering above a button, ready to end the call. "Text us the details." He pressed the button, and addressed Debra. "Since he gave her up, he could be running. Let's head out now, get the warrants underway."

* * *

It was a low-rent apartment, hard to find in the city. The only security measures in place were the deadbolts and chains on the individual doors. When you put that up against a police issue battering ram, it doesn't really matter. They don't call it "the big key" for nothing.

Hotch was the first one to enter. He held his weapon at arms length, steady but relaxed. They cleared the main room, and he made for the room on his immediate left. J.J. pushed through and to the right, finding a kitchen. Batista ended up on the back right, in what must have been a second bedroom. Reid stopped after coming through the front door of the apartment and waited, patiently for the familiar chorus of "all clears". The four members of their group gathered in the living room.

"I've got a music room back there," Batista began the orientation of their findings. "Couple of guitars, and some cheap-ass recording equipment."

"I was in the kitchen," J.J. picked up, "doesn't look like anyone's been in there for days. The dirty dishes in the sink are pretty ripe."

"I searched the bedroom," Hotch didn't really have anything pertaining to the case, so he shrugged his shoulders at their pleading stares, "it was messy." The residual members of the S.W.A.T. team were ordered outside, and the C.S.U. technicians were brought in.

* * *

Garcia had been right; the slip was in a squalid state. There was one S.U.V., an unmarked car and two cruisers. They rolled into the parking lot in complete silence. Much to Derek's chagrin, the Lieutenant took the lead. She moved stealthily toward the small boat, the other Morgan and his teammates close behind.

The cabin door was slightly ajar, and she took just enough time to indicate this to her F.B.I. counterparts. They formed a tactical line, and she burst through the door.

The room they found was spotless. There was a cot off to the side and a table in the middle. Emily found a small lantern hanging in the back corner, and flicked it on. Upon further inspection, Derek noticed the chains protruding from the left wall. The profilers were intent on absorbing the unwanted development, and were startled by the other woman's loud eruption. "Fuck!"

Dave seemed to be unfazed, and followed the explicit surge with a mundane, "looks like we missed him."

"Looks like," Emily sang out as she headed for the exit. "I'll put the call in to Hotch, let him know that we didn't come away with anything."

Deb reigned in her anger, and walked out a few seconds later. "I'll get Dex here to see what he can find. That looks like dried blood on the floor."

The two remaining men looked at each other. "You think he was at his apartment?"

Dave thought about it before answering, "no. I think Mr. Fischer is long gone." What he didn't say was that he didn't believe that Adam Fischer had run. He'd been around the block more than a few times, and he already had suspicions as to how an inexperienced kid could have given them all the slip. As much as he hated to admit it, his mind was inclined to return to an earlier conversation. Perhaps Garcia really _had _been on to something. No cop would willingly point the finger at another, not unless they had irrefutable evidence, but Rossi was starting to have his doubts. "I think we're done here," he said as he holstered his weapon and left Derek standing alone.

* * *

"Our best guess is that Fischer was an acquaintance of Newfield." Hotchner that he gave off a certain vibe, one that said he was absolute in his findings. He didn't mind using it, occasionally, to shield good investigators from political downfall. They all knew that Deb's Captain would be looking for a scapegoat for this partial failure. "They likely played a few gigs together, and Newfield knew about Fischer's boat."

Emily stepped forward, "in this type of partnership, there's a dominant and a submissive personality. Newfield was definitely the dominant."

"We believe he convinced Fischer to join him, if not for the first victim, shortly thereafter." Derek motioned for Debra to take over.

"The blood evidence Dexter found on the boat supports this theory. There were positive matches for seven of the eight victims, excluding victim number one, Sarah Evans." She trailed off, finding it difficult to admit the next part. "There's absolutely no trace of Fischer. Wherever he is, he disappeared himself well."

LaGuerta gave her subordinate a hard stare, and then turned to Hotch. "I suppose the F.B.I. will be keeping tabs on Mr. Fischer?"

"Yes, ma'am," he returned. "Our technical analyst is personally seeing to it. His cell comes on, he uses a credit card, anyone calls in a tip and we'll be notified within minutes. We'll of course keep you and your people apprised of the situation."

She pursed her lips and nodded. "Thank you, that will be all," she said, effectively putting an end to the briefing.

**A/N: Probably just one more chapter to be added, but I have to write it first. I'd like to hear what you think of the ending. This is only the second story I've ever written, and it's going to be the first one I finish. I'd like to know if I'm doing it right I guess haha.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: If you don't know what Black Jack/21 is, google is your friend.**

**I forgot to mention that the part where Masuka "flirts" with Prentiss was a direct result of Celina's previous comment. **

He was starring hard through the blinds. He watched as the agents said their goodbyes, and wished the remaining members of their mini-taskforce luck on tracking down Fischer. Though he did find a certain… _release _in killing, he was finding immense gratification in knowing that he had beaten these profilers. It wasn't quite as grandiose as he had been hoping, but he'd managed to get to one of their suspects. Dexter knew that these people didn't settle for anything less than perfection. He knew that the thought of a torturous bastard on the streets would drive them mad. He was going to take a great deal of pleasure in that for the foreseeable future.

* * *

The six people that occupied the dimly lit cabin of the jet were restless. By the time the agents had wrapped up the case, and sat in on the briefing with the Lieutenant, it was well after dark. Factor in the amount of time it had taken them to get their flight scheduled, and that put the time somewhere past midnight. They were used to long days though, and still reeling from the events of the past two days. The B.A.U. was called in to catch the bad guy, that's what they do, but in the end they were met with failure. Yes, they had apprehended Jimmy Newfield. However, Adam Fischer was still out there. Even if they were right, and Newfield had pushed Fischer into committing the monstrous acts he had done, he was in it now. There was no doubt, in any of their minds, that this guy would continue killing until someone stopped him.

Aaron Hotchner was sat at the tail end of the plane. He was diligently pouring through paperwork that required his attention. This was not a foreign sight to the members of his team, and they always gave him the space and quiet atmosphere that he needed.

J.J. was positioned across the isle from the table where the rest of her colleagues sat; amused that Reid had managed to talk them into a game of Black Jack. She was halfheartedly reading a book, more out of a need to keep her mind engaged than for entertainment purposes. She was also more than a little interested in the conversation her friends were having.

"I found it a little curious," Reid began as he softly tapped the table, "that Fischer took the time to gather his tools. I mean, he had to know that we were onto him."

"Eh, it's not actually that hard to give the cops the slip if you've got a fairly generous head start." Morgan checked the corner of his bottom card, and then studied the faces of the other three. "What surprises me is that this weasel has somehow managed to evade Garcia. Hit."

Prentiss dealt him a card, and then waited. At his dismissive hand signal, she peered at her own cards. "You know what bugs me," she said, pulling a card from the top of the deck, "no one in that crime lab thought to run the number on the napkin."

"You mean your boyfriend." Derek didn't even bother to acknowledge the pointed stare he'd elicited.

She ignored Spencer's puzzled expression, and instead turned to Dave. "What do you think?"

"What do I think?" The older man faced her as he flipped over his bottom card. "Twenty, that's what I think." Emily rolled her eyes in an aggrandized manner, just to let him know that she was not impressed by his shameless dodge.

He looked to Spencer, and raised his head in challenge. Reid presented his cards saying, "twenty-one," while sporting an expression that was far too smug for such a sweet young man. "I'm from Vegas," he reminded his friend.

Derek angrily displayed his cards to reveal a score of eighteen, and the three men switched their focus to Emily. She slowly took another peek at her card, and then arched an eyebrow in Spencer's direction. She slid the card from the bottom and dropped it, face up, in the middle of the table. "Twenty-one. Being that you're from Vegas, I'm sure you know plenty about the house rules." Emily proceeded to gather her winnings from the center of the table, enjoying the stunned look marring the genius' face. It was just a bag of pretzels, or what was left of one, but it always felt good to beat Spencer Reid. She turned her attention back to Rossi then, "Are you going to answer my question now?"

After gathering the playing cards, he inhaled deeply and dropped his head in contemplation. Beginning to shuffle, he looked up and said, "I believe that we'll be visiting Miami again, sooner rather than later."

**A/N: There you have it. I just wanted to add that the "profiling" is based off of the episodes of criminal minds that I've seen, a high school semester of psychology and one of sociology. So, it's probably far from accurate.**

**I hope no one is entirely disappointed by this ending. I intend on a sequel at some point. I just wanted a quick meeting for right now. Feedback would be great. As awesome as it's been chatting with Celina, I'd like some other viewpoints if you're not too busy.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Alright, I've just updated the first chapter of the sequel. It's called Into the Mirror. Thank you all for being exceedingly patient! I wanted to hold off until I had a little bit more experience with writing. Now, go read that bad boy. Don't forget to drop review and let me know what you think. **


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